Riddle's Secret Reveiled
by kamion
Summary: Lord Voldemort tries to reveil the power and magic of his soon to be fifth Horcrx


He looked at the object, there could be no doubt, and it was ancient,   
As ancient as the cup and the locket he had found a week ago at the home of that silly old witch.  
The old woman would not fawn and drool over him any more, nor would she drool over her treasures or anything else; House Elves were far easier to manipulate then the Wizarding World was ready to admit.  
Obtaining what was his by right of heritage could not have been easier; obtaining was his by right of power had been just as easy.

Deep in the wine cellar of the house high on the hill,  
where once the man who had fathered him had lived  
he counted his treasures,  
The first did not look like a treasure at all, just a cheap booklet pinched from a Muggleshop. Yet it contained the greatest treasure of all,  
it contained the proof that it could be done; tracking down Billy Stubbs after some seven years had been of use after all. Maybe the fat cry baby had found back his pathetic rabbit again.  
At least both had screamed alike.  
The second hardly could be called beautiful, it was gross and heavy, but the plump black stoned ring held power, that was feeding his unruly mind, saying that his hands were clean considering the death of his uncle dying miserable in Azkaban. Those who let themselves get framed that easy did not deserve the treasures of the ancients, whether it be a ring, a badger-decorated cup or a serpent-imprinted locket.

He never regretted one moment working for the grim and grimy duo of Borkin and Burke, they had been as obsessed with ancient relics as he was and they shared a knowledge about that theme he never would surpass.  
The old men did not share it actually, they kept secrets for each other that only were unmasked through Legilimency, a slight intruding of the fear, that his precious objects might be stolen threw Burke in fitful nightmares... and the old vulture talked during dreams.

Borgin had muttered and groaned about his quarrels with the neighbour from the other side of the alley; two ancient wizards brothers dealing in Quabalistic Artefacts, about an object they refused to sell even when their business went bad and they had to spent all their energy keeping the goblins from Gringotts at bay. The Schwabe brothers were not very skilled in putting up wards to protect their belongings. He easily had avoided those when investigating the small shop and the cramped living quarters above it. And even more easily he had found the object he desired.  
Only killing the two brothers in their sleep so shortly after the Smith House Elf had poisoned her silly mistress, would arouse to much suspicion. So he decided to exchange it the next night for a duplicate. Most difficult had been to duplicate its aura and to reach back to what he had felled when touching the Mirror of Erised. They were by the same hand, crafted the same time. Only this mirror was smaller and could be hand held. On the rim of the mirror were Quabalistic runes or signs, while its tarnished bronze backside was decorated with stylised ravens and eagles. Most certain the mark of Ravenclaw, although the Quabalistic runes confused him; he had never heard of Ravenclaw practicing Quabalism or being a Quabalistic witch.  
But when he had returned the next night with the duplicate he had made from the, to him useless, Medal for Magical Merit,  
Rowena's Handmirror as he had called the ancient relic was gone.

He did not believe in coincidence and when Borgin mentioned that the attractive sister of the Schwabe-brothers had been seen, he knew where to look for the Ravenclaw treasure again.  
All he knew about her that she was married to some wizard and mine-owner called Prince and had a rather dumpy excuse of a daughter, called Eileen, which seemed to be terrible afraid of him, the few times he met the both in Knockturn Alley. Prince Mining Company was easy to trace; there was only one mine in Britain specialised in ores necessary for wand making. And it was ailing; the compagny only kept itself afloat, because the richer imports from South Rhodesia had stopped to a trickle during the Muggle War. Prince' mother had not survived his search of the mansion, she had the bad luck of being alone at home, but the old hag had put up quite a fight. No House Elf this time to frame with a killing, the Prince family did not have enough standing to own even one House Elf.

His treasures were now five in number, a good number, and from the four houses only Gryffindor was lacking, but it was time to leave the country. Eventually the death of the matronal hag could be laid at his doorstep, better to lay low in exile then face the risk, the House of Prince would pay later for its impertinence to obstruct him in his quest. Gryffindor had to wait, it had to wait till he had deepened his knowledge of Dark Arts and what lay beyond. With Dumbledore hovering over Dipshit's shoulder there was ample change he would reach the Sword or the Hat. Ever since he had looked into the Mirror of Erised during his first year at Hogwarts Dumbledore had effectively barred access to the major vessels of power. Only once he had tasted the delight of seeing and feeling his future. To feel and to taste that it would be great, unlimited and unending and all powerful.

Would this artefact crafted by the same cunning and crafty hand show him the same, would it show it show details, guideline, strategies how to obtain his dream and his desire? He had not looked directly in the reflecting crystal plate. Now the time and the occasion was right. The house above him was empty again, the last family had left faster then those before as if the ghosts of his father and of his grandparents still dwelled in the place. Only the gardener stayed, a loner, half an invalid in his early thirties and with no other place to go, who kept the gardens in better shape then he kept the house.  
The man had already retreated to his own shed and would not come near the house till the next day. So now was the moment for him, who called himself Lord Voldemort, to reveal the secrets of Rowena's Handmirror.

"_Recludo Occulta!_" He commanded, tapping the crystal with his wand.  
Nothing happened, not the slightest quivering of the magic and power that filled the relic.

"_Te ostendo!!!_" He yelled in anger, no artefact would resist the will of him, who was Lord Voldemort.

A quiver, a moaning sound, soft and far away, but coming from the mirror where clouds parted.

" Tom" the mirror moaned, showing him his own face

He yelled in anguish and the mirror shattered when it dropped to floor from his trembling hand.

Fixed and frozen the image he had seen still in the shards - his face pale, handsome and young, melting to a bleached skull, that crumbled to dust from a light breeze caused by the tender waving of a child's hand.


End file.
